


The Shift in the Perspective

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Missing and Added scenes, brief mentions of offscreen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: A re-telling of The Prince in the Plastic from different perspectives....





	1. Booth

As Booth quickly walked over toward the center of the room where Sweets was standing, one thought persisted in his mind.

‘ _This wasn’t supposed to happen. I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen.’_

* * *

 

When Sweets first mentioned his intention to become certified to carry a gun in the field a couple of days ago; Booth balked at the idea.

‘ _Sweets is a squint…and a kid. He shouldn’t be carrying a gun.’_

Booth only listened half-heartedly while the psychologist explained why he felt that he needed one, his final argument being his assertion that he would “have his back”. Booth had to admit that he was touched that Sweets was concerned enough about his safety to want to help him in this way, but that did not quell any of the uneasiness that he felt about the idea.

Unfortunately what started out as a discussion quickly turned into bickering as it became clear that Sweets was determined to do this with or without the agent’s blessing.

_“Look, I don’t need to ask your permission. I’m going to get certified to carry a weapon and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”_

At the time, Booth had been irritated at Sweets’ defiant attitude and how the therapist had managed to distract Brennan into talking about their living arrangements instead of staying on the topic at hand. In the end, no real progress was made other than the two of them developing some brittle feelings for each other. Soon afterwards, they were given a new case to solve, but Booth’s thoughts about the idea of Sweets carrying a gun did not stray too far from his mind at any point as they worked.

He thought again about what the therapist had said, and Booth started to consider the possibility that Sweets had a point. He had come to rely on Sweets more and more these days in the field, partially due to the fact that Brennan’s pregnancy necessitated her to stay in the lab more often.  Over time, however, Booth came to the conclusion that this was also the natural result of him relying on Sweets’ skills as a profiler and an interrogator at an increasing rate during his investigations. The psychologist was a great sounding board for Booth as he tried to work through possible scenarios and lines of inquiry of each case. Unlike Brennan and the rest of the squints, who were usually unwilling to speculate or theorize without concrete evidence, Sweets was willing to analyze the crimes and suspects while still injecting his own viewpoint, providing Booth with an invaluable perspective.

‘ _Even so, Sweets doesn’t need a gun,’_ he continued to tell himself. ‘ _If there is any shooting in the field, I can take care of it. Sweets doesn’t need to worry about stuff like that.’_

As the case progressed, Booth continued to mull over the situation and as he did, he found it harder and harder to hold onto that rationale. Brennan’s words about Sweets possibly “drawing fire” kept coming back to him, and it forced him to contemplate the idea that Sweets could get shot at even if he didn’t have a gun. Booth knew that he was an excellent shot and could handle just about any hostile situation, but he had to acknowledge that he was not superhuman. There was always the possibility that he could get hurt in the field.

‘ _And if that happens and Sweets doesn’t have a gun…who is going to protect him then?’_

This question disturbed Booth, and that feeling only intensified when he ended up taking Daisy out into the field with him.

The agent was able to ignore a lot of what she said as he worked to rein in her exuberance at being allowed to go into the field with him, but when she mentioned how disappointed she was that he was not being “a better friend” to Sweets,  he not been able to let that completely slide past him. Thankfully Daisy had chosen that moment to heed Booth’s request for silence and thus, he was able to keep his feelings in check, but that didn’t stop her words from gnawing away at him.

It wasn’t something that Booth liked to speak about aloud. After all, he was far less comfortable with discussing his feelings than just about everyone else on his team. The truth was though that over the years he had grown very fond of Sweets and had come to consider him a close friend. Booth was certain that the psychologist understood and reciprocated that sentiment, and he was grateful that Sweets usually did not ask him to spell out his affection into words.

Still, Booth wondered if the psychologist was actually aware that part of the reason for his reluctance was because of his concern for Sweets’ safety and well-being.

‘ _Using a gun is not like interrogating suspects or holding therapy sessions. It’s dangerous…and there’s a lot more to it than just defending yourself or coercing people with it.’_

Booth reflected back to when Sweets had watched someone die right in front of him during a subway accident and then to when Taffet had been assassinated right next to him. Booth times, Sweets had been severely shaken. Booth did not hold that against him. He knew that the therapist felt things deeply and that Sweets was sensitive to and concerned about the people he encountered. It was a quality that Booth admired about him and thus, he did not want to do anything to discourage or demean it.

But Booth was also all too aware that there was a tremendous burden and cost that went with taking someone’s life. Considering how affected Sweets was by those other events, Booth did not want to think about Sweets carrying that kind of burden.

It did occur to him, however, that the psychologist might have taken his words badly during their original discussion, causing Booth to heave a deep sigh when he was alone at one point. He hadn’t meant to hurt Sweets’ feelings, and was uncomfortable with having to explain himself in a more emotionally direct way, but he hated the idea of Sweets holding these bitter feelings even more.

Later that even, while on a stakeout with Sweets, Booth tried to explain his concerns for the therapist’s welfare, but Sweets was having none of it.

“ _Yeah, because you think I’m incompetent. Well guess what? I aced my last practice round at the range.”_

Booth quickly became frustrated at himself and at Sweets as he realized that the psychologist was still angry at him for his flat refusal earlier and the bickering that had ensued.

That night while he tried to sleep, Booth reached the conclusion that trying to talk Sweets out of this was not the answer. This was about more than being able to carry a weapon. It was about respect, it was about trust. It was about Sweets trying to grow into the responsibilities befitting a member of Booth’s and the Jeffersonian’s team.

It was then that the agent decided that he would have to take more proactive measures. He knew the agent who was in charge of the range assignments, and Booth remembered that that agent owed him a favor.

As a result, the next morning, Booth reported in to be Range Master for the day’s evaluations which mainly included Sweets’ certification test.

As Sweets walked up to him and realized that Booth would be running this test, the agent could see the irritation and disappointment clearly written on the psychologist’s face. Booth, however, did not care. He might have been able to reason rationally that another agent could give Sweets a fair and rigorous test, but that was not good enough for Booth. If Sweets was going to go through with this, Booth wanted to be sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that the psychologist could handle himself.

But even more than that though, Booth wanted to be the one here no matter how this test turned out. He just hoped that Sweets was as good as he professed to be. Otherwise, he would have to face a moment when he would have to explain some hard truths to Sweets. A moment that he knew could very well damage their friendship.

Watching Sweets during the test itself, Booth could not help but be impressed, as well as more than a little relieved. Sweets was good. His shots were concise and accurate, and the therapist showed superb judgment and steady nerves. As much as he did not like to admit it, Booth could see that Sweets possessed solid gun-handling skills. There was really no way that he could not allow the psychologist to pass his certification, despite his continued misgivings about Sweets having a gun in the field.

Booth was about to turn the machinery off when he heard the sound of a bullet hitting metal, and Sweets crying out seconds later. The agent felt his heart jump into his throat.

_“Sweets, you hit?”_

Booth immediately left the control panel and briskly made his way over to the psychologist. He could see Sweets holding his arm and knew that he had been hit. The question now was how badly Sweets was hurt.

_“Let me finish the course.”_

Booth felt a small surge of pride at that. He knew that Sweets had been hurt and yet the psychologist still wanted to tough it out and finish rather than give up just because he was in pain. It was something that Booth could relate to and he was pleased to see this quality reflected back at him in Sweets.

That did not change, however, the sick feeling he had at Sweets getting hurt during his test. He walked over to see Sweets still holding his arm and gingerly reached over to examine the wound himself. He was relieved to see that it was superficial, but in the back of his mind, that one thought still persisted.

_‘This wasn’t supposed to happen. I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen.’_

 


	2. Sweets

As soon as Sweets felt the white-hot sting of a bullet slicing through the flesh of his arm, his mind could only register one thought.

‘ _I screwed up…and now there is no way that I’ll pass.’_

* * *

 

When Sweets made the decision to tell Booth about his intention to start carrying a gun in the field, he had expected some resistance on the agent’s part. He knew how protective Booth was of his co-workers and how seriously he took the use of weapons on the job.

Sweets did not, however, expect the flat-out refusal and lack of consideration about the decision that he got.

“ _Shrinks have couches, not guns.”_

_“It’s crazy for him to carry a gun.”_

_“You’re not getting a gun.”_

Sweets had bristled at Booth’s tone. The rational part of his mind tried to tell him that Booth was probably concerned about him, despite his snarky demeanor, but right now, the part of him that was hurt and insulted had taken over.

“ _I’m going to get certified to carry a weapon, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”_

The therapist pointedly ignored Booth’s attempts to discuss the issue further out of pique, but if he was honest with himself, he was grateful that Booth didn’t get a chance to ask him more about it.

After all, Sweets was more than a little anxious about what might come out and more than slightly determined to not allow his anxiety to show.

Over the last couple of years, the psychologist had gradually went from only counseling his co-workers in his office about various professional and personal matters and giving profiles to sitting in interrogations and helping Booth sort through evidence all the way to eventually joining Booth and Brennan in the field. At first Sweets had been excited about the change. Granted, it had felt a little strange to be doing so much work outside his office, but he quickly learned to relish the change of pace, the opportunity to have a more “hands-on” experience, and the camaraderie that he had with his co-workers and friends.

The more he did all this, however, the more that Sweets started to consider the idea that being out in the field more also meant that he was taking great risks with his personal safety. Initially there had been only isolated incidences that gave him pause, like the time he and Brennan had been run off the road in his car by a murderer, and most of the time, he didn’t worry about it because of how secure he felt with Booth working by his side.

Still, he did worry at times about what would happen if the agent ever got hurt….and this worry reached its fullest potential during the Broadsky case.

It started with the assassination of Taffet right in front of him. The psychological assault that Taffet had inflicted on him had been bad enough, but the moment that he had watched her head explode into blood, brain matter and shards of bone had been terrifying. To this day, Sweets continued to be grateful that Booth had been there to yank him out of the line of fire because the therapist was sure that he probably would have gotten hurt somehow if he had been allowed to continue to wander around in shock. For weeks afterwards, Sweets grappled with the fear and sense of helplessness that that event had brought forth in him.

Those feelings continued to persist as the case wore on and they reached a climax again when Broadsky killed Vincent Nigel-Murray in the Medico-Legal lab. It was then that Sweets felt himself fall into a pit of uncertainty and apprehension about what he was doing.

None of that, however, was able to destroy his desire to work with Booth, Brennan and everyone else at the Jeffersonian. He had already been given a taste at one point of life without them when they all left their jobs and many of them left DC for about seven months not too long ago to pursue personal and professional dreams. Sweets found that he was far more afraid of returning to that reality than of any threats to his physical well-being.

The only solution to his worries that occurred to him after months of consideration was to make it so that he could defend himself in the field. That meant that he would have to carry a gun of his own.

It had not been an easy decision to come to. Despite his traumatic background, it had always been the therapist’s first impulse to want to help people, not to hurt them. Using a weapon seemed to be the antithesis of that. Also, Sweets had remembered how concerned his parents had been when he announced his intentions to join the Bureau about the possible danger involved in such a career. The main way that he was able to ease their worries was by assuring them that he would mainly be doing office work and that he wouldn’t be involved with anything truly hazardous. Working even more in the field and carrying a gun almost felt like lying to them.

In the end though, Sweets had been able to move past these reservations. He now understood, thanks to Booth, that having a gun have a person the chance to protect people, not just hurt them. Plus, Sweets also was certain that his parents loved him to the point that they would want him to be able to defend himself from harm and thus, would be understanding of his decision.

Reaching these conclusions had not been an immediate process, but it had gone faster than it normally would have because Sweets had fear driving him.

* * *

 

It was that same fear that drove him to the practice range on a regular basis and what had led him there that afternoon. His certification test was tomorrow, and he needed to be ready for it.

While practicing, Sweets tried to put himself into the mind of an agent. Agents were people who regularly handle guns and who were often responsible for other people. It gave him additional focus and helped him to suppress his more nurturing instincts, which he needed to do if he was going to assist Booth in the field this way.

After firing his latest round, Sweets was pleased at the results. He knew that he would probably never meet Booth’s level of marksmanship, but he had worked hard to become a good, accurate shot at the very least.

Sweets turned to see Daisy cheering for him, and he had to admit that he had mixed feelings about her being there. On one hand, the psychologist was grateful that she was so supportive of his efforts, seeing as there was little in the way of support from his friends. But it soon became apparent that Daisy was more than a little “excited” about his using a gun, and he was worried about the potential for distractions. Distractions he could ill-afford right now.

His worries turned out to be warranted in the face of his next abysmal round of shooting.

_“Damn it…I haven’t missed all day.”_

Sweets was angry. Not really at Daisy since he knew that she was only trying to help, but at himself. That kind of performance only proved Booth’s assertion that he shouldn’t be carrying a gun.

‘ _If I do this badly during my test tomorrow, there’s no way that I’ll be allowed to carry a weapon…And Booth would probably find out about it too. He’ll never take me seriously after something like that. He won’t want me to work with him in the field.’_

_‘Then he’ll realize that much faster how little I add to the team…and that could make it easier for them to discard me when I stop being useful…’_

The psychologist tried to think about this as little as possible, but the truth was, deep down inside, that there was a persistent, overriding fear that he would be left behind at some point by his friends. They had left him when they scattered throughout the world, and it was happening again, albeit it in a much slower, more subtle way.  Now, that his friends had started to focus more and more on their own relationships and families, Sweets was starting to feel increasingly like the odd man out in their group. He hated how selfish that feeling was, but was not able to completely shake it either.

The only solace he was able to find was in the ideas that as long as he was useful to the team professionally and as long as he was pleasant to be around, they would maintain ties with him. Since Brennan was having to spend more time in the lab due to her pregnancy, Sweets figured that this was the time for him to step up to additional responsibilities for the good of the team and to “prove” his worthiness to them.

Daisy encouraged him to view the targets as potential threats to her, and the therapist found this to be surprisingly effective.

‘ _I need to help keep the people close to me safe,’_ he told himself as he surveyed his vastly improved results. ‘ _Daisy, Booth, Doctor Brennan….I need to pass this test.’_

* * *

 

Later that evening, Sweets found himself waiting in Booth’s SUV so they could catch up with the victim’s brother, who had become a viable suspect. While they were sitting there, Sweets noted how obvious it was that Booth had something on his mind. Eventually the agent worked up the nerve to share it with him.

“ _Look, it’s not that I don’t want you to carry a gun, Sweets. Do you understand that? It’s just that I’m concerned about your welfare.”_

Sweets felt a slight pang in his heart upon hearing that. In the back of his mind, he knew that it had taken a lot for Booth to be so open about his concern, but right now his anger over Booth’s earlier flippancy and his fear of failure were making it impossible for Sweets to appreciate the agent’s show of affection.  Not spotting the very person they were supposed to be watching for at the same time as Booth a few seconds later only added to the psychologist’s agitation.

‘ _I’m going to pass my certification test tomorrow,’_ he told himself later that night. ‘ _There’s no other option.’_

* * *

 

The next morning, Sweets arrived at the firing range, keyed up, but ready….that is until he saw who the Range Master was going to be for the day.

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“Called in a favor….”_

Sweets could not deny that Booth’s presence both annoyed and unnerved him, but then again, he was not entirely surprised by it either. It was classic Booth all the way.

So when Booth put forth the idea that Sweets would have to suck it up and prove that he could trust him, Sweets decided to just see it as a challenge.

“ _Let’s rock and roll.”_

* * *

 

Once inside the testing range, Sweets felt his emotions shut down, and his mind becoming completely clear. He navigated the obstacles and targets as skillfully he could. Every bit of his focus was honed toward performing at his absolute best.

As a result, it had shocked him immensely when he felt a bullet tear into his arm, and he wasn’t able to stop himself from crying out.

“Sweets, you hit?”

The psychologist found himself more than a little embarrassed by that. He could tell by the tone of Booth’s voice that the agent was very worried about something that Sweets figured had been a mistake on his part.

Booth had had the test halted and moved to carefully examine Sweets’ arm. As the agent gently checked him over, Sweets could not stop that one thought from flooding his brain.

‘ _I screwed up…and now there’s no way that I’ll pass.’_


	3. Outside

When she first saw them, she thought that they were family.

* * *

 

Amber had worked as a RN in this hospital for over ten years, and had seen many things. People caught up in the heights of joy and relief and others shoved down into an incurable sadness. Patients who left…and those who never did…

For the last four years, Amber worked in the ER, and this morning she was doing double duty by helping to check in patients and assist the doctors. Fortunately, it was an oddly slow day at the hospital, so it wasn’t hard to keep up with the pace.

‘ _Still…Amy owes me big time for calling off today and not working her shift,’_ Amber frowned to herself. She started to walk back to the waiting rooms to see if anyone needed her help when she saw two men walk in.

The first one, older, handsome with a commanding presence, had short brown hair and broad shoulders. He was guiding the second man, a slighter, but tall man with curly brown hair and large chocolate eyes, over toward the reception desk. Amber was able to catch snippets of their conversation.

“…Agent Seeley Booth…Doctor Lance Sweets…We need to get his bullet wound checked as soon as possible….”

‘ _Doctor Sweets?’_ That had surprised Amber. The younger man did not look old enough to be a doctor of anything, but it was clear that the agent was serious in his assessment.

The one called Sweets continued to hold his arm stiffly, and the nurse could detect some embarrassment from him over the concern that the older man was showing for him. She had seen it many times before between parents and children, husbands and wives, and older and younger siblings.

As she walked off to the side, Amber mused over that last point. Truthfully, she had been a little surprised by the fact that the two men had different last names because her first impression had been that they were related, more than likely brothers. She had seen the protective stance of the elder man and the unconscious effort for the younger to stay close in many a set of siblings. She then thought again about what they had told the nurse at the reception desk.

‘ _He said “agent”. So FBI then?’_ she thought to herself. ‘ _Maybe they are partners.’_

After the two men had signed it, they went over to a set of chairs to wait, the agent carrying a clipboard and pen in one of his hands. Once they had sat down, the one called Booth seemed to insist on filling out the form himself with the young doctor dictating the information to him, much to his obvious chagrin. Once they were done, Booth turned the clipboard and pen back into the nurses and settled back in beside Sweets. The two of them sat quietly, sharing a silence that could only be called companionable.

Since she had no one else to tend to, Amber decided to check them into an examination room. She picked up the necessary forms and peered at the list of sign-ins to make sure she got the name right.

“Doctor Lance Sweets,” she called out.  The two men immediately rose to their feet, the agent holding out a hand behind Sweets’ back just in case he needed to be steadied even though the younger man seemed to be determined to shrug off any pain his injury was giving him. Booth followed Sweets into the corridor and this did not surprise Amber in the least.

Sweets appeared calm if still a little mortified as he gave his basic medical history and explained the cause of his injury: a ricocheting bullet.

Amber then went ahead and checked over the wound itself, noting that it wasn’t serious, but figuring that it still probably hurt. The nurse then led them over to an examination room with instructions to wait for the doctor.  She then dropped off the file where it could be picked up by the attending physician and left them to work on other duties.

* * *

 

A few minutes later, Amber happened to be walking down the hallway, when she heard voices coming from the examination room.

“Hey Sweets, Bones just texted me. Apparently she’s got some more ideas about who the murderer might be. I’m going to call Daisy, and let her know what’s going on. She can drive you back to the office since I need to get going. I’ll check up on you later and let you know if I need you for an interrogation.”

“Thanks Booth…and uh…thanks for…For letting my pass my certification.”

“You passed because you did well during your test. Nothing more. It had nothing to do with what I thought…Wait, did you think that I wouldn’t pass you?”

There was a long pause and then Amber could hear a sigh.

“I knew that you didn’t want me to have a gun. And when I saw that you were going to be the Range Master for my test, a little part of me…well maybe more like a big part of me…thought that maybe this was all just a way to prove your point: that I wasn’t competent enough to carry a weapon in the field.”

“Sweets…did you think that I was there to sabotage you?”

“Not so much sabotage…More like, you’d be tough. So tough that there was no way that I could ever pass. And then when that ricochet hit me…..I was so sure that I had failed.”

Another long sigh filled the room, and Amber could hear the shuffling of feet on the floor.

“Look, this is not the end of this conversation, but I want you to understand two things right now. Are you listening, Sweets? Your getting hurt today was the result of a malfunction in the machines. It was in no way your fault and it was no reflection on your ability to handle a gun, all right? And second, I did not show up today just to prevent you from passing. Like I said before, it’s not that I think that you shouldn’t be able to defend yourself. I just wanted to be sure that you were up for the task…Now hold on, this isn’t about you being competent. It’s about what I need in the field.”

“What you need?”

“Yes, what I need….If the guns do come out….and something happens to me…I want to be sure that you can take care of yourself, and that you won’t need me to save your life. And I…I want to be sure that you can protect anyone else who might need our help, if I can’t do it myself.”

“Booth….I….”

“No, not now. I need to get back to the office, and you need to get stitched up. I’ll get a hold of Daisy, and we will talk more about this later.”

Amber immediately moved along, a little ashamed that she had listened in on what was clearly an intimate conversation between close friends. A few seconds later, the agent was walking briskly out of the room, down the hallway, muttering a number to himself as he went.

* * *

 

Soon, a doctor made his way to the examination room where Sweets was waiting and Amber assisted him. They had just finished examining and cleaning the wound when a petite brunette came rushing into the room.

“Daisy,” the young doctor assured her while holding her close with one arm. “I’m fine. It’s nothing major. Just a scratch.”

“Mr. Sweets is quite correct,” the physician chimed in. “He’ll just need a few stitches is all.”

“It’s Doctor Sweets, and scratches don’t require stitches,” Daisy sniffed. Amber couldn’t help but smile a little at that while Sweets went on to explain what had happened to Daisy. It was clear that Daisy was intent on babying him somewhat, and the nurse sensed that Sweets did not mind it. In fact, Amber was willing to wager that he enjoyed it to some extent and that perhaps he might even need a little of that in his life.

Amber walked away as the physician attempted to give Sweets four stitches, with the young doctor insisting that he only needed two. As she walked by again, she heard the physician advising him to keep his arm stationary for a day or so while giving him a sling to wear so as to make sure that he wouldn’t tear his stitches.

The nurse then sent his paperwork out to the front desk so that Sweets could check out when he was done. She was glad that Sweets appeared to be all right and would be well taken care of. He struck her as a kind, empathetic man who had more than one person invested in his welfare. A part of her wondered how the rest of the conversation between him and the one called Booth would turn out, but Amber found that she wasn’t really worried.

She was still convinced that they were family in some way….and it looked as if this family were going to keep each other as close as they possibly could.

 


	4. Inside

While sitting in his office at his desk, Sweets contemplated the annoying truth that staring at a computer screen did not always equate getting any work done.

Over the last day or so, the psychologist had found it increasingly difficult to keep his mind on his work when he was alone. The previous night was understandable, in his estimation. Daisy had stopped by to check up on him and somehow it had let to a brief, but energetic round of sex.

Sweets sighed and tapped his fingers against his desk. He hadn’t really wanted to give into the urge to have sex in his office yet again, but Daisy had been very persistent and persuasive. After they were done, the therapist had decided to chalk up the rest of the night as a loss and went out with her for some drinks. The next morning he managed to get some more work done and had been able to stay focused when consulting with his patients, but now that it was late evening and he was alone again, Sweets found his mind wandering again.

He swiveled around in his chair and stared at the rest of his office furniture.

‘ _I really should get around to replacing all of it,’_ he thought. ‘ _And not just because of the normal wear-and-tear.’_

Sweets frowned as he leaned back in his chair. He knew that what was bothering him was not the furniture in the room: it was the holster on his belt.

His hand drifted back toward the gun near his hip and his frown grew deeper. When he had first started working at the Bureau, he had decided to make it a rule to not allow guns in his office. Granted, it was also official Bureau policy, but it was a policy that was often not strictly enforced. Sweets, however, had found himself insisting on it. It had partially been for safety reasons, but that was a very minor part of his rationale. The truth was that having his patients leave their firearms out of therapy sessions was a symbolic gesture, a way to separate him and his patients from the job and the stress and horrors that came with it. This place was meant to be a safe environment that would foster trust and calm. Having guns in the room would only disrupt that environment.

Having his gun here, even if it was out of sight on in its holster, felt like a violation of what he had been trying to achieve while developing his practice and building therapeutic relationships with his patients.

‘ _I should keep it in a locked drawer or something when I am in here,’_ he figured. ‘ _Especially when I am having therapy sessions.’_

Sweets pushed himself away from his desk and moved over to his chair that he used for therapy sessions. He hated to admit this, but he found himself having second thoughts about carrying a gun in the field. He still felt a strong desire to help Booth and to make himself as useful to the team as possible. But now that he actually had the gun, many of Booth’s concerns had truly begun to sink in…along with some fresh concerns of his own.

‘ _Carrying a gun means facing the prospect of having to use it,’_ the therapist pondered. ‘ _What if I have to use it for something more than just coercion? What if I have to hurt someone?’_

_‘What if I have to kill someone?’_

Sweets swallowed hard. He had examined that possibility when he made the decision to become certified to carry a weapon in the field, but back then it was only a vague concept in his head, a hypothetical question that he wasn’t even sure if he needed to consider. Feeling the weight of his sidearm against his body gave this concept a form and gave that hypothetical question real weight.

The psychologist sighed and slumped down in his seat. At one point before his test, he had harbored doubts about whether or not he was the type of person who should be carrying a gun in the field. He had managed to resolve his worries at the time so he could perform well on the test, but despite his performance and the trust that Booth was bestowing onto him, Sweets still felt uneasy at the new responsibilities he had been given.

‘ _I may have the skills to shoot well, but…will I be able to act fast enough when Booth needs me to? In field situations, seconds count…and it won’t be the same as shooting at cardboard people. Will I be able to act decisively when I need to? And…will I be able to live with the consequences of my actions?’_

Sweets’ reverie was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching the door of his office. He looked up in time to see Booth opening the door and walking inside.

“Hey Sweets, you got a few minutes?”

 

As Booth made his way to Sweets’ office, he could feel himself becoming tense.

Granted, it didn’t compare to how tense and worried he felt during Sweets’ certification test, especially given what happened, but the agent had managed to put aside his feelings about all of that so that he could concentrate on wrapping up the case at hand. Now that the mystery was solved and the murderer was in custody, Booth had been finding himself increasingly preoccupied.

It was true that any concerns he might have had about Sweets’ skill with a firearm had been quelled by the therapist’s performance during the test, but the moment when Sweets cried out after being hit had crystallized every fear he had carried about taking the psychologist in the field.

Thankfully, this had proved to be a minor injury that required only a few stitches…but it had also just been an unfortunate ricochet in a safe, controlled testing area. In the field, things would not be so safe and simple. There might be ricochets, but there also might be people shooting directly at the both of them…at Sweets. There might be minor injuries, but there also could be major ones…ones that could not be fixed with just a few stitches.

Booth shuddered. He had had to learn to deal with fear of Brennan getting hurt in the field for years after they had become partners. It hadn’t really gotten any easier for him, but eventually, over time, he had learned to accept the situation for what it was and make the necessary adjustments to handle the idea of the anthropologist sometimes being in danger along with convincing himself that she could often take care of herself.

But now with Brennan carrying their child and Sweets being the one instead who was putting himself into hazardous situations, Booth could not help but feel a heightened sense of anxiety.

The agent ground his jaw. He was determined to keep the people closest to him safe, but he also could no longer ignore the fact that he was losing control of environment he had constructed to ensure that nothing bad would happen to them.

And at this point, Booth was unsure of what frightened him more: the thought of the people who he cared about being in danger or the loss of this control.

Booth did his best, however, to shake off these fears as he continued his walk toward Sweets’ office. Right now, there was a conversation that he needed to have with the psychologist and it didn’t involve these thoughts or feelings.

When he arrived, Booth could see the shadow of someone in the office, so he opened the door and walked right in without knocking. As he did, Sweets looked up at him from his chair.

“Hey Sweets, you got a few minutes?” he asked as he walked inside.

“Sure, go ahead,” Sweets said, waving a hand toward the couch. The therapist leaned back in his chair and waited for Booth to sit down. As he did so, Booth looked at Sweets a second time and frowned.

“You should be wearing your sling,” the agent pointed out. “The doctor wanted you to keep it on for four days, and the last thing I need is for you to tear your stitches.”

Sweets sighed and got up to retrieve the sling from his desk. He then sat back down and Booth waited until the psychologist had placed it back on his arm before leaning forward and speaking again.

“Listen,” Booth began. “I know that you’ve been certified and that you have your sidearm now, but you need to know that that’s not going to be the end of it.”

“What do you mean?” Sweets asked. Booth could see both worry and wariness in Sweets’ eyes and he knew that he would have to choose his words carefully.

“You’ve definitely got the basics down,” he continued. “But there’s more that you’re going to need to learn: about when and when not to draw your weapon, about when and when not to fire. About how the two of us are going to handle the situations that might come up. Some of this is stuff that you’re going to have to learn over time, but I’m also going to walk you through as much of it as I can. We’re going to work out a system, and I’m going to expect you to stick with it while you’re still learning to handle yourself. Understand?”

Booth had expected to come up against some resistance from Sweets and was shocked to find none in the therapist’s demeanor. In fact, Sweets looked somewhat relieved at the agent’s words, leading Booth to suspect that Sweets was grappling with some additional issues of his own.

Booth fell back against the couch and did his best to stifle the urge to roll his eyes. This was a dance that the agent had become all too familiar with. Underneath his lighthearted, goofy façade and his repeated attempts to get the people around him to share their thoughts and troubles, Sweets was notoriously unwilling to open up his own heart and mind to anyone. It irritated him at times, especially since Booth felt that had made a real effort to be more open with the psychologist about the things in his own life.  But he also acknowledged that it was possible that Sweets was carrying around things that he couldn’t completely fathom and thus, he tried to be patient with him in moments like this.

As a way to diffuse his frustration, Booth decided to watch Sweets carefully, looking for the subtle signs that the psychologist would give when he was more willing to talk if given the opportunity. He soon spotted them in the midst of Sweets’ nervous fidgeting and decided to put off leaving for the moment.

“Booth,” Sweets finally said. “When you have to use your gun, do you…? I mean, are you ever…?” The agent leaned toward him. He could tell that Sweets was not only trying to find the right words, but was trying to avoid sounding too clinical while doing it.

“Is it normal to…to be afraid?” Sweets asked. “Afraid of having to use it? Not wanting to have to…?”

Booth was surprised. He had expected this to be about the gun issue, but he had not guessed that this was what was on the therapist’s mind. But after considering it for a moment, it made sense to Booth that Sweets would be concerned about these kinds of things.

“Sweets, what you’re feeling…that weight of responsibility…that’s perfectly normal,” Booth replied. “In fact, I’m glad that you are feeling it because that is something you need to be aware of if you are going to carry a gun in the field. And you know what? I hope that you don’t stop feeling it as long as you are carrying that weapon in your holster because the minute you stop having those feelings is the same moment you’ll go from being an asset to a liability in the field.”

Booth leaned in even closer to Sweets, his eyes lit up with intensity.

“I need someone with me in the field who understands the stakes involved and who isn’t going to jump into dangerous situations without thinking,” the agent added. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Sweets responded quietly, his eyes flickering down toward the carpet. Booth found himself becoming concerned again with the reaction he was getting.

“Hey Sweets, listen, don’t over-think this, all right?” Booth said. “I wouldn’t be taking you out into the field if I didn’t think that were capable of handling all of this. It’s just going to take time. And again, I’m going to help walk you through it, ok?”

“Ok,” Sweets said. His expression was still thoughtful, but the agent noticed that it wasn’t as pensive as it was when he first walked in. Booth then reached over and patted Sweets’ shoulder.

“Come on,” he said as he got up. “How about we go get a drink?”

“Sounds good,” Sweets said, a smile appearing at last. “Are you buying?”

“All right, fine,” Booth said in mock exasperation. “But only the first round. After that you are on your own.”

“Awesome,” Sweets said as he rose to his feet. He went back to his desk to throw a few things in his briefcase before grabbing it and walking with the agent out of his office.

“And if Mark is there tonight, I can introduce you to the Founding Father’s latest drink: the Sweet Sling,” Sweets beamed.

“The Sweet Sling?” Booth said. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, no it’s actually pretty good,” Sweets insisted.

“This isn’t one of those fruity drinks with a bunch of little umbrellas on it or something is it?” the agent asked.

“Hey, how many chances do you get to have a drink with the person that said drink was named for?” Sweets smirked.

“Ok, you’ve got a point,” Booth sighed.

Sweets smiled again, and Booth couldn’t help but let out a chuckle in response as the two of them made their way to the elevator. In the back of his mind, Booth knew that he would probably have to endure a “girlie” drink pretty soon.

 But, from his perspective, that was a very small price to pay.


End file.
